


The Hen Frigate

by the_alchemist



Category: Moby Dick - Herman Melville
Genre: Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Comedy, Domestic Violence, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Redemption, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 20:14:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_alchemist/pseuds/the_alchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melville describes Ahab's wife as a 'sweet, resigned girl'. But what if she wasn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlterEgon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlterEgon/gifts).



> Thanks to beta readers R, S and K; to Herman Melville (plus John Milton, William Shakespeare and Stella Gibbons who also left their mark on this story in one way or another); and to AlterEgon for a prompt that was so entirely *me* that I had to check to make sure I hadn't accidentally posted it myself.
> 
> I think I'm right that 'no archive warnings apply', but it might skate a little close to 'graphic depictions of violence' at times, and I'm particularly aware that it includes a not-entirely-unproblematic depiction of domestic violence. In terms of other warnings, I've tried to fix some of Melville's egregious race!fail, but that may not be immediately apparent, and of course it's likely I haven't done so perfectly.

Had she ever been pressed sufficiently hard, the long-suffering Mrs Ahab would have been forced to own that there was an extent to which persons who think it wise to use a six inch long knife to stab a creature with 14 inch thick skin, had, in the vernacular of the common folk, it coming to them. That in no way implies, however, that she was anything but a stoutly loyal and loving spouse to the man who – as she often pointed out – had very many fine qualities as well as an unfortunate tendency toward extremes.

When he came back, he flinched from her touch and would not meet her eyes, but had the Parsee help him to his study, shut himself in and turned the key. As she often did in times of great distress, Mrs Ahab found herself imitating the arch and humorous demeanour of her Bostonian father.

“Mr Fedallah,” she said. “I really must complain. When a person ships her furniture and household stuff overseas, does she not do so in faith that her furniture and household stuff will arrive intact at its destination? And should some mishap occur, does she not rightly expect that compensation should be swiftly forthcoming? And if this rule applies to inanimate objects, then why not to husbands, whose limbs and wits are worth more to a thrifty housewife than any number of pickle forks and occasional tables?”

The Parsee glowered and did not answer. She had met him once before, on the Pequod, prior to its setting sail. He had not spoken then either, but she had noticed him watching her, with cold, snakelike eyes. She suppressed a shudder. “And will you take tea, Mr Fedallah?” she asked.

To her relief, he did not accept.

As she shut the door behind him, she felt all her courage and composure fall away. She put her fist to her mouth to prevent herself from crying out. For the past three years, she had looked forward to Ahab’s return: to hearing about the voyage, to telling him about her political work, to watching him quiz William about school, to picnics on the beach and late night fireside conversations about poetry and philosophy.

She had known the moment she saw him that something terrible had happened, something more terrible than the loss of his leg, though God knew that was bad enough. “Ahab–” she had said, and reached out. That was when he nodded at the Parsee to take him to his study. He could barely walk, she saw. He leaned heavily on Mr Fedallah, and every time he stepped with his ivory leg, he winced with pain.

“Ahab,” she said again to herself, alone now in the hallway. She walked to the closed door, but knew better than to knock. “Ahab!” This time she was calling to him. He did not respond, although she thought she heard the creak of his leather chair as he shifted position.

She jumped as the grandfather clock beside her began to chime eight. William’s bedtime. She thanked God he was away, staying with his friend Peter on the other side of the island. Inside the study, she heard a low and agonised moan. Perhaps he thought the sound would be covered by the chimes.

She wanted to beg him to let her in, but Ahab in his sorrows was like a wild animal: the more she pushed, the more he would pull away from her. She would have to wait for him to come to her.

She took a duster from her apron pocket. She had been about to dust when Mr Fedallah had rung the bell – a scant half an hour ago at most, though it felt like a lifetime. When she had dusted, she swept. She had no housekeeper at present: Jenny had left rather suddenly to get married, and the advertisement for her replacement had only gone up the previous week.

When she had swept, she polished. When she had polished, she turned and saw that the study door was open, and Ahab was leaning in the doorway, watching her.

“My poor Flora,” he said.

“My poor Ahab,” she replied. “What can I do for you? Shall I heat the water for your bath?  Or are you hungry or thirsty? Or shall I turn down the bed?”

He regarded her steadily. “I want nothing but revenge,” he said in a matter of fact tone.

“Revenge?”

 “I have seen into hell itself: I have seen the very face of Satan and lived to tell the tale. And the poets lied when they painted him all horny and goatlike or as a shade: for indeed he lives, and it is in the form of a great white whale.”

“So it was Moby Dick then."

“Aye.”

A particle of relief found its way into Flora’s heart. This was, at least, a common misfortune, for it was the regular custom of the great white whale to dine upon the limbs of Nantucket men. Captain Slater, who partnered her at whist, had lost an arm to the brute (a fact for which she gave guilty thanks every Wednesday afternoon, for it meant he could no longer touch her knee under the table while still holding his cards). And if other men recovered from the catastrophe with their wits intact, then why could not her husband?

And yet she still feared, for she would not have married Ahab if he had been as other men are.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He looked down at the floor. “Well,” he said.

“Come to bed,” she said.

“Nay,” he said, looking up again. “Until his dreadful task be accomplished, Ahab’s bed must be as hard as the beast that maimed him, and thou must think they husband dead to thee and to all but his dread purpose. Now go, and trouble me no more.”

And with that, he shut the door.

* * *

She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling by flickering candlelight. She sought for words to rationalise the mess of thoughts and feelings and sensations, and remembered those of the psalm:

_I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels._

Perhaps I am mistaken, she thought. Perhaps what I have taken for madness is only natural grief. But she knew she was wrong with the same certainty with which she had known Ahab was the man she would marry

The worst of it was that the bedroom was directly above the study, and so she could hear his agonised groans. And at around midnight she heard him cry out in a way that wrenched her very soul. She sat up in bed, her heart beating fast, then lit her candle, and crept downstairs in her nightgown, lingered a moment before the door, then, catching her breath, pushed it open.

_My strength is dried up like a potsherd;_ _and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death._

He was lying on the floor wearing only his shirt, eyes closed, breathing heavily and quickly, with his clothes and ivory leg flung into a corner of the room.

She went to him, knelt down, and he reached out for her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the first time they had touched since his return, and despite everything, Flora felt warmth pulsing into her heart.

“Ahab, Ahab,” she said. “Do not shut me out. I can bear anything but that.”

But his breathing had become heavy again and he was staring up at the ceiling. Seeing that to move him would be impossible, she crept upstairs, brought down the quilt and laid it gently over both of them. He pulled her closer, and when she finally slept, it was with her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

 “Where’s William?”

She awoke not knowing for a moment where she was, and the voice, unheard for three years, was almost unfamiliar.

“Hmm?” She turned and looked at Ahab, who was perhaps a little less pale this morning. “Good morning, love. He’s staying with his friend Peter. Peter has a telescope, and a puppy.”

“Oh.” Ahab’s voice had suddenly become quiet. “Is he a good boy?”

“Very good.” Sometimes _too_ good, she thought. As sensitive as Ahab, but without his wilful resolve. There would be tears and worse than tears when he found out.

“Does he remember me?”

“Of course!” He had been four when Ahab had left, and was seven now. He talked about his father almost every day.

“Well,” said Ahab. “I have a busy day today. I must visit Captain Peleg and Captain Bildad.” The owners of the Pequod.

“To reckon up the accounts of the voyage?” asked Flora. “Can they not come here?” And can they not wait a day or two?

“To reckon up the accounts,” said Ahab, “and to plan the next one. There is no time to be lost.”

Flora stared at him. “You’re going _back_?” she said. She had assumed he would retire, that when he spoke of revenge, he meant by some means other than actually going back to sea. But she saw from his face that was the wrong thing to say. “So soon, I mean,” she added hurriedly, then felt awful – it was the closest she had ever come to lying to Ahab.

“Aye,” said Ahab. “Why delay?”

That was a dare: name the reasons, speak them aloud. She did not reply.

Ahab eased himself up to a sitting position, and Flora sat up too.  He was staring at his right leg, as though surprised to discover that it ended just below the knee. Flora saw bruises and even blood where the leather straps had cut into him, and a mass of shiny mottled scars at the end.

“Fedallah is coming at midday,” he said.

Flora’s heart sank. She had hoped not to see the Parsee again. “What for?” she asked.

“To take me to Peleg and Bildad, and to help me plan,” said Ahab. Then he turned to her. “You don’t like him, do you?”

She would not lie again. “No,” she said. “Not greatly.”

“He saved my life,” said Ahab. “Three times, he saved me.”

Flora lowered her eyes. “Then I am grateful to him,” she said.

“There’s my Flora.” And he kissed her on the head like a child. “I shall need clean clothes, and a bath I think. Where is Jenny?”

“She left last month,” said Flora. “To marry Tom – do you remember? Tom from the baker’s. I advertised last week but don’t have a replacement yet. No matter though – I can pour your bath. Where will you have it? The kitchen is warmest, and you can keep me company while I bake.”

* * *

Flora made apple cakes, and told Ahab about Tom and Jenny’s wedding while he soaked in the bath. “Tom wants to leave the bakery and go whaling,” she said at last.

“Is he strong?” asked Ahab. “There may be room aboard the Pequod.”

“He wants to leave soon,” said Flora. “Within a month or so. He says that now he’s a family man the bakery wages aren’t enough, and his uncle will lend him something against his lay so that Jenny can manage while he’s gone.”

“That would suit me well,” said Ahab, “for I am eager to be gone and finish what has been started.”

Flora’s heart sank, but she did not show it. “Will you be taking Mr Milton with you again?” Mr Milton had been the first mate, and Flora had warmed to him as instantly as she had come to fear Fedallah.

Ahab’s aspect at once darkened and she knew she had said something terrible. “Mr Milton is a traitor,” he said. “Had we been the navy, I would have had had him hanged for mutiny.”

Flora put down the apple and peeler. “What in the world happened?” she asked.

“He would not obey my command to follow Moby Dick,” said Ahab. “He tied me to my hammock and told the crew I was mad. He made them sail back home. Home! When every law of God and man were goading us on.”

“He ... probably meant well,” said Flora carefully, taking up the peeler again and thanking God for Mr Milton.

“Meant well? Flora, you do not understand.” He leant forward, earnest and animated. “Flora, Moby Dick is no ordinary whale, but a fiend. _The_ fiend. I ... Flora, you must understand that I have seen ... that I have been vouchsafed knowledge of hidden things. You mustn’t speak a word of this. I trust you, but I don’t trust all. Bildad and Peleg ... if they heard, they would think ... well, they might not think me fit to captain their ship, and it is imperative – do you hear me – imperative that I do so, and that as soon as I can.” He was shouting, but he suddenly ceased and looked her shrewdly up and down, eyes narrowed. “I haven’t misjudged you, have I, Flora? These are deep mysteries, and not all minds are fit to comprehend them.”

Flora was saved from answering by the sound of the front door crashing open. “What in the world ...” Wiping her hands on her apron she hurried to the front hall.

“William! Why aren’t you in school and ... oh! What happened to your clothes? And your face?” He was muddy and looked like he had the beginning of a black eye.

“Got sent home.”

“What? William, what happened?”

He didn’t answer, but turned his face away from her.

“William?”

“Jonny Mattheson said the Pequod was back and a whale had ate my Papa’s leg and he’d gone mad so I hit him.”

Flora didn’t know what to say. “William ...” she began, then stopped.

“I said he was a liar and liars go to hell. And he said I was a liar, and then we fought a bit and Mrs Peach pulled us apart and sent _me_ home, which isn’t fair because Jonny Mattheson started it by telling lies.”

“William,” said Flora again. “I understand that you were angry, but hitting people is never the right thing to do.”

“What about in a war?” said William. “Jonny Mattheson says only Quakers think it’s not all right to hit people in a war.”

“Your schoolyard is not a war, is it William?”

But William frowned. “What’s the matter, Mama? Have you been crying?” His strange, cocksure demeanour was beginning to fracture and melt away. “Mama, _is_ the Pequod back? What happened, Mama?”

But just then there was a noise which sounded very much like a tin bath full of water and husband clattering over and flooding the kitchen.

“Mama!” said William.

“William, go to your room now.”

“Mama, is it Papa?” And then he burst into tears and flung his arms around her. “Mama, tell me!”

“Flora!”

“I’m coming, Ahab!”

“Mama, a whale _did_ eat his leg, didn’t it?”

“Not _as such_ ,” said Flora, disentangling herself from her son. “Sort of.” She started towards the kitchen, then turned back. “Only some of his leg. William, go to your ...”

But then she saw Mr Fedallah leaning in the open doorway. He wasn’t _quite_ smiling, but it was close. _Hitting people is never the right thing to do_ , she told herself.

* * *

At least Mr Fedallah was another pair of hands, and Flora didn’t prevent him from going to Ahab while she gave William a dry handkerchief to wipe away the mud and tears, took him up to his bedroom, sat on the bed with him and told him that everything was going to be all right.

“Think of Mr Slater,” she said. “He’s only had one arm for seven years, and look how cheerful he is!” She strained to hear anything from downstairs. She should have gone herself. What if Ahab were hurt? What if Mr Fedallah meant him ill?

William gave her an incredulous look. “I can’t imagine Papa getting as cheerful as Mr Slater,” he said.

“Did Mrs Peach say anything about when you could come back to school?” asked Flora.

“No,” said William, but he blushed, and Flora knew he was lying.

“William?” she said, using her warning tone.

“She said I could come back this afternoon if you said so,” he said sulkily. “But I want to see Papa first.”

“Papa’s busy,” said Flora. “You can see him tonight”.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as William was out of the door, Flora went to the kitchen. To her surprise, Ahab was dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, using a mop to soak up the spilt bathwater. Mr Fedallah was on his hands and knees, using whatever else was to hand for the same. Mrs Ahab recognised dishcloths, tea-towels, her best bath towel, napkins and even a tablecloth being pressed into service. She sighed. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can do that.”

The first thing she did when Ahab limped off to visit Mr Bildad and Mr Peleg was write a letter to her parents asking them to take William for an extended visit. Her mother had been pressing for this for months (‘he must come to Boston before it’s too late’, was the phrase she used, presumably meaning ‘before he becomes a Nantucket savage’).

Then she went out on an errand of her own.

* * *

Mr Milton was an unmarried man, known in Nantucket for his seriousness and piety. Like Ahab, he had been to college: to Cambridge, England. A scholarship boy from the Welsh valleys, out of place among the sons of England’s gentry, he had taken solace in the poetry and prose of his famous namesake, and after graduation had set sail for the Americas, chiefly because he thought it unfitting for any Christian to live under the governance of a hereditary monarch.

He answered the door himself when Mrs Ahab rang the bell, coming down in his shirtsleeves. “Mrs Ahab,” he said. “Why, come in. Will you take tea? Please excuse my undress – I was working in the garden and not expecting a lady visitor.”

The room in which they drank tea was more a library than a parlour, with books lining every wall. Mrs Ahab liked it very well indeed and expressed the opinion that he must have been very happy to return to it.

“Aye,” said he. “Though I love the sea, the homeward course is always the sweetest, and this voyage was more difficult than most – though I forget myself. That is a truth you know all too well.”

“Indeed,” said Mrs Ahab. “And it was not on an unrelated matter that I came to see you.” Noticing a hint of a frown flicker across his face, she went on. “No, no – I do not share my husband’s opinion of … of what occurred.” She had been going to say “of you”. “I thank you for doing what must have been a painful and difficult duty, and am not unaware that my husband may even owe his life to you. Oh dear …” To her acute embarrassment, she felt tears in her eyes. And having given her handkerchief to William, she had neglected to find another one. Silently, Mr Milton handed her his. “Thank you,” she said, managing to collect herself.

“And how is the Captain?” asked Mr Milton, after they had sat in silence sipping tea for a few moments.

“A little better, I think?” Which was not _quite_ a lie, she told herself. He did seem a little better than the worst he had been. She bit her lip, ashamed of her deceit.

“I am right glad of it.”

“Mr Milton,” Flora began again. “I have come here to ask you … well, first of all, I have come here because I should like to hear another’s perspective on what occurred.” That phrase again: a mincing modern euphemism, almost comic when set against the tragic horrors it signified.

Mr Milton frowned, then nodded. “Of course,” he said.

“And spare me nothing,” said Flora. “Every detail you can recall, I wish to know it.”

First he told her about their encounter with Moby Dick. “At the first lowering, nothing was out of the ordinary, save that your husband’s harpooner was sick with a fever, and an able seaman called Fedallah took his place. But then the beast reared up out of the water, and by his size and whiteness we recognised him. All around me I heard men mutter ‘Moby Dick’, with neither excitement nor fear in their voices, but rather a kind of unholy awe.

“Two harpoons struck the beast, then all at once I saw him rear up again, this time with the Captain’s boat in his jaws. After that, all was confusion for some time – I busied myself pulling men out of the water. Then, looking around to see if any were missing, I noticed that all were staring in the same direction. I followed their gaze and saw your husband kneeling on part of his boat’s wreckage, legs splayed, and stabbing at the beast’s face with his pocket knife.

“Moby Dick shook his head, like a cow shaking off a fly, and for a while I couldn’t see anything, but then I saw Fedallah pulling the Captain bodily from his jaws.”

“A pocket knife ...” said Flora faintly, reflecting on the stupidity of clever people, and on the fine line between bravery and idiocy.

“Pardon me, madam,” said Mr Milton. “I have distressed you.”

“No, no,” said Flora. “I thank you for your frankness. What happened next? The Pequod carries no surgeon, I know.” Rather than take on the extra expense, Ahab relied on the fact the ship had a carpenter, and a copy of Ambroise Paré's _Oeuvres_ shelved in his cabin.

“Great confusion, I am ashamed to say, Madam. I fear I was ill-equipped to take on command in such calamitous circumstances. I had our second mate see if any were missing, while I tried to discover which of us was best fitted to attend to your husband’s wound.

“Some said it was the carpenter, but he took one look and fainted. The third mate sewed well, so I told him that sewing up a man is not greatly different from sewing up a sail, but he downright refused, saying that no-one had ever been hanged for sewing a sail badly. In the end it was Fedallah who took on the task.

“The other two mates and I held the Captain while Fedallah worked. It was the strangest thing in the world to watch him kneeling there with the leg in his lap, blood soaking into his trousers, but as entirely unmoved as though he had been mending a jacket, while the Captain screamed and cursed us all.”

“May I ask you a question, Mr Milton?” said Flora.

“Certainly.”

“What do you _think_ of Mr Fedallah?”

Mr Milton’s face hardened a little. “ _Then_ I was grateful to him. But later ...” He frowned. “Mrs Ahab, you asked me to be frank, and the truth is that I am afraid for your husband.”

Flora swallowed. “I am afraid for him too,” she said. “And Fedallah – in ways I do not yet understand – is part of that fear. But tell me, what happened next?”

“Afterwards, we laid the Captain in his hammock – you know that he always refuses to sleep in a bed – and although he was clearly in great pain, he spoke lucidly and asked after the crew. Praise God, none had been lost, and none but he seriously wounded. He was greatly comforted by that news.”

“And did he speak of the Moby Dick?”

“At that time, not at all. But then I had to leave him, to attend to the ship and supervise repairs of the boats that had been damaged but not destroyed.  It was Fedallah then who watched by him, both day and night. Though I often thought of your husband with concern and love – for he was a good Captain, Mrs Ahab, you must understand that, and a kind man, and a skilled teacher – I had not the leisure to visit him for three days.”

“And then?”

“And then I found him very much changed. He sent for me, down to his cabin, and his eyes were bright as though with fever, and he clutched at my sleeve, asking me had he been sighted, had he been seen again? I asked him who he was talking about.

“’Why, Moby Dick, man: the devil, the beast.’

“And I told him I had taken the decision to alter our course for home, for of our four boats one was destroyed and two damaged beyond safe repair, and besides our hold was more than half full already. I did not mention his own disposition, although of course that was another factor in my decision.

“At this he flew into a rage and called me traitor and mutineer and things that I would not say in front of a lady, and told me to change my command immediately, head back for Japan and pursue the white whale to its death, or else to ours.

“I gave him all the reasons why this would be unwise, but he would not listen, and shouted louder, until I could hear others clustering round the cabin door to hear.

“Then all at once the rage was calmed in him. ‘But I forget myself,’ he said. ‘You think that Moby Dick be but a natural creature, is it not so?’”

“’Aye,’ I said. ‘albeit an uncommonly large one, and uncommonly fierce too.’

“And then he unveiled to me a kind of strange theology in which Moby Dick was the epitome and apogee of every evil that had beset the world since the Lord said let there be light.

“I suggested to him that it may not seem so after he had slept properly, whereupon he grew enraged, told me I was dismissed from my position as first mate and commanded me to call the second and third mates, the harpooners and Fedallah to his cabin.

“I refused, giving the reason that if I no longer had a position aboard his ship, neither did I have any reason to obey his commands, and then I walked away, thinking that an hour or so of solitude may be the thing to calm his troubled spirits. I went to my cabin to pray.

“Alas, you know Madam that your husband is not the kind of man to let an insignificant matter like the loss of a leg detract him from his purpose, once set. So it was that when I returned, I found he had somehow dragged himself onto the deck, and although his wound had reopened and was bleeding profusely, he paid no mind to that, but sat on the deck telling all in the firmest manner that they were to set course once more for Japan.

“Some – Fedallah among them – rushed to obey his orders, but most looked at me for direction. I called the second and third mates to me, and after a brief conference, we decided it was necessary to bring the Captain back to his cabin – by force if we had to – and confine him there until the madness had passed.”

“And I thank you for it,” said Flora. “But _did_ his madness pass?”

“In a sense. When the ship sailed into more temperate climes he became calmer, and seemed to accept that we were bound for Nantucket, and to have forgiven me for what he saw as my mutiny. I spent more time with him then. He talked much of you, Madam. He was afraid his boy would no longer recognise him, and he was afraid that your love for him had diminished, though he said that his for you only grew greater every day.

“We talked also of poetry, and he asked me who my favourite poet was. ‘Why, my namesake,’ I said.

“’And dost thou also fancy thyself the slayer of tyrants?’ he asked, and then he quoted the Englishman, William Blake: was I also of the devil’s party without knowing it? But at once he moved on to some other matter, so I could not quiz him further about what he meant. But I saw the coldness in his eyes, Mrs Ahab, and I knew then that his madness had not dissipated, but had instead sunk to a more fundamental level of his being, and was all the more dangerous for that.”

“Thank you,” said Flora, perceiving that Mr Milton was done with his narrative. “What you have said has only served to confirm what I already believed.”

“It pains me to hear it,” said Mr Milton. “For I had hoped that the steadying influence of dry land, and thy wifely attentions, Mrs Ahab, would serve to calm him.”

“He plans to go to sea again,” said Flora. “He speaks of little but revenge.”

“I feared as much. Can he be stopped?”

“By no force on earth,” said Flora, “or in heaven either, I fear. But ... perhaps if you were with him, Mr Milton, then as before you could temper his extremities with your moderation.”

Mr Milton shook his head. “Madam, I wish I could, but I have sworn never again to set foot in a ship captained by your husband.”

She considered begging him, but knew it was hopeless. To her shame, she felt tears running down her cheeks.

“Dear lady ...” said Mr Milton.

“I ... apologise,” she said, standing up. “I have taken too much of your time. You are too kind, Mr Milton.”

“Wait,” said Mr Milton. “I have a nephew, the husband of my niece. He was second mate aboard the Diamond, and when next he sails, he would like it to be as first mate. He is of my sect – a Quaker – and very much of my disposition too. His name is Mr Starbuck.” And he gave her his address. “It might be best if you did not tell your husband who recommended him.”

And so they took their leave, and Flora walked the long way home, so that neither her husband nor her son – should either be home – would see she had been crying.


	4. Chapter 4

"She seems to imply that he's gone mad," said Flora's mother, pouring another cup of tea.

" _Gone_ mad?" said Flora's father.

"Well, gone madder then," said Flora's mother.

Flora's father gave her to understand that he was incredulous as to that possibility of there existing any further depths of insanity into which his son-in-law – who was, incidentally, two years his elder – could sink.

"Also," said Flora's mother, pondering a second macaroon, "a whale ate his leg."

"And was not this monster of the deep," asked Flora's father, "ever taught that in civilised society it is considered an insult to one's hosts to take one bite out of the proffered dish, and spurn the rest?"

"It was probably," said Flora's mother, who was overly fond of puns, "a spurn whale."

Flora's father glared at her. "Well, I call it a missed opportunity," he said.

"Don't be unkind, dear," said Flora's mother. "She seems upset. And it will be lovely to have William with us for a while, won't it? He must be quite the little gentleman now."

Flora's father snorted. "If I had my way, we would bring Flora too," he said. "I rue the day I ever gave permission for her to wed."

* * *

Flora Spencer was only eighteen years old when she returned from visiting a schoolfriend in Nantucket accompanied by a man of late middle age, whom she announced to her astonished parents as both the captain of a whaling ship, and her fiancé.

Once they had safely installed him in the guest bedroom, they summoned Flora to Mr Spencer's study to interrogate her as to the circumstances surrounding this peculiar state of affairs.

"We're in love," said Flora, simply. "And if you don't give your permission for us to wed, we shall elope."

"That," said Mr Spencer, glaring at his wife, "is why we should have forbidden the silly girl from reading novels."

Mrs Spencer ignored him. "Now my dear," she said. "If he has taken advantage of you, it needn't necessarily mean marrying him. There are ways–"

"He has certainly done no such thing," said Flora. "He is a man of honour, and we have been chaperoned at all times.

Mrs Spencer sighed. "Well," she said, "at least tell us a little more about him. What is his surname? What kind of family is he from?"

"He doesn't have a surname," said Flora, "leastways, not that he uses."

"Doesn't have a surname?" Mr Spencer raised both his eyebrows and his voice, his face so red that Flora feared he was about to suffer an apoplexy. "Why, without a surname, one is not even civilised, not even Christian."

"Now, now dear," said Mrs Spencer. "Surely it is the Christian name that is the mark of a Christian, and at least he has one of those."

Seeing this as a sign of softening, Flora leapt in. "He has a perfectly lovely house as well: it is large and modern and situated in the very best part of Nantucket." She refrained from adding that it was sorely in need of a woman's touch.

"See, Cecily!" said Mr Spencer. "See how far she has fallen! She is under the impression that there is a best part of Nantucket, when I have it on good authority that the place is entirely stitched together out of worst parts."

* * *

It was a strange kind of marriage, but one that suited Flora ideally. She was utterly devoted to Ahab, and when he was with her, her soul sang. He inspired her to be her best self, to learn more every day, to love her body as he loved it, and to recognise the sublime and transcendental among everyday matters.

She did not suppose this would be sustainable as a mode of everyday life, but most of the time he _wasn’t_ with her, and she could devote herself to activities such as raising her son, working to abolish slavery, learning different styles of cooking, and reading poetry (or, if the mood took her, writing it). And of course, since Nantucket was full of other women in the same position, she was never lonely, or at least not until Ahab’s return that cold October.

That changed everything. It would have been treachery to confide in her friends, since she could hardly expect them to keep secrets from their husbands, and their husbands were all whaling captains too, and if they knew Ahab’s state of mind, then he would not be trusted with the Pequod. Although she could see the advantages of that, she knew it would be no true cure, that unfulfilled obsession would eat Ahab up like a cancer.


	5. Chapter 5

William was still at school when Flora arrived home, and Ahab still at Mr Bildad’s house, discussing some matters pertaining to the Pequod’s next voyage. But the house was not empty: Mr Fedallah sat in the parlour, cleaning his fingernails with a harpoon.

“Do make yourself at home,” she said, then smiled wryly because of how much like her father she sounded.

He glowered.

It then occurred to her that this might be a good opportunity to get to know him better. At best she may discover her fears – and Mr Milton’s – to be quite unfounded, and at worst, she could at least learn something about her husband’s enemy.

“Can I fetch you a cup of tea, Mr Fedallah?” she asked.

He looked at her suspiciously.

“Well,” she said, “I’ll make a pot and bring two cups, but please don’t feel obliged to partake if you would rather not.”

* * *

The problem was working out how to begin the conversation. For example, “It strikes me, Mr Fedallah, that you may not be a human being at all, but rather an evil spirit embodied, and intent on dragging my husband with you to hell,” was hardly a polite thing to say to one’s guest, though some of her father’s early conversations with her husband had not a dissimilar bent.

“Ahab tells me,” she said, “that I have you to thank for saving his life, not once but three times.” (When was the third, she wondered?)

He inclined his head. That was a start.

“Well, I thank you,” she continued, “from the bottom of my heart.”

He took one of the cups of tea, which she counted as a sort of success, even though he did not appear to understand the function of a handle or a saucer.

“And have you been sailing long?” she asked.

“You hate me,” he stated.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I can see it in your eyes. You hate me.”

Nothing she had learnt of etiquette from her parents or their Boston friends had quite prepared her for a situation like this.

“I’m frightened,” she said, remaining composed. “I love my husband very much, I want him to live a long and happy life, and I’m afraid that your influence on him may not be entirely conducive to that.” And she saw with a little victorious thrill that he had not been prepared for calm honesty.

“What your husband wants is to slay Moby Dick.”

“And what do _you_ want, Mr Fedallah?” He did not answer. She smiled almost coquettishly. “A slice of cake, perhaps? Let me go and get one.”

She used the walk to the kitchen to compose herself. “Lemon or raisin?” she said. She cut the slices in the kitchen and arranged them on a doily. Doing so felt pleasingly like an act of aggression.

“Or money, maybe?” she continued. “Would you like me to pay you to go away and not come back?”

But then the door opened and Ahab returned. It pleased Flora to see the look on his face when he saw Fedallah sitting on the pink striped chair, holding a dainty piece of lemon cake.

“Do join us,” she said. “Mr Fedallah was just telling  me what he wants from life.”

Ahab sank heavily into the sofa beside his wife. “Bildad and Peleg are happy for me to take the Pequod again,” he said, without preliminaries, “but they have taken against thee, Fedallah, and it is one of their conditions that I leave thee behind.”

Flora suppressed a triumphant smile.

“Who’s been talking to them?” Fedallah hissed.

“Mr Milton, I fear,” said Ahab.

“I will come whether they will or no.”

Ahab looked at him then slowly nodded. “Aye,” he said. “Thou shalt. Now I think me, it will be an easy matter to stow thee and thy fellows in the fourth boat. Thou shalt be provided with provisions aplenty, but mind thou dost not stir without my explicit say-so.

Then he turned to Flora. “Not a word of this, wife, to Bildad or Peleg. Dost thou swear?”

And Flora swore, but at the same time thought about how she could use this information to her own ends.

It was then that the front door opened and William returned from school. Flora met him at the door, sent him to fetch two more teacups, and told him he might sit with them, and even drink tea, so long as it was very milky and he on his best behaviour.

“William, William,” said Ahab. “Dost thou recall thy poor old Papa?”

“Aye,” said William. “I prayed for thee every night, and every morning looked out for the Pequod returning.” It amused Flora to see how her son fell into the Quaker speech the moment Ahab was returned, and amused her yet more to see Fedallah squirm. She thought he was not much used to the company of children, and disliked to see Ahab’s attention on any but himself.

“Thou art a good lad.”

“Thou art a good Papa.”

And Ahab laughed, for the first time since his return.

* * *

It was past midnight when Mr Fedallah left. He and Ahab had worked late into the night, studying maps and charts, marking what they knew of Moby Dick’s movements.

After William had been put to bed, Flora sat in the corner of the parlour where they sat, knitting and listening. A plan was beginning to form itself in her mind.

After seeing Mr Fedallah out, Flora held both of her hands out to Ahab. “To bed,” she said.

“I told thee I would not sleep in a bed ‘til Moby Dick be dead.”

“That was in thy passion,” she said. And on the grounds that his metaphysical quest would be more likely accomplished after a good night’s sleep, he let her lead him upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

William wept when he was told that he was to be sent to Boston, but a promise of a new telescope, all of his own, cheered him sufficiently that he started to count the days before his grandparents’ housekeeper came to fetch him.

Ahab was busy interviewing  those in Nantucket who had before encountered Moby Dick, or who had spoken to others who had, and plotting his various appearances on a complicated series of charts. Fedallah was a near constant presence in their house, seldom absent except to sleep.

That meant the nights were particularly precious to Flora. Though even then, he spoke of little but the whale, and his breathing and whole demeanour suggested deep agonies, beyond her capability to understand.

“Talk to me, Ahab,” she said one night. “I cannot bear to hear your anguish without sharing it. Is it your leg that afflicts you thus, or something else?”

“Flora, Flora,” he said, finding her hand with his. “You are the best of wives and I would not for the world be without you.”

“Then trust me, Ahab.” Though even as she said it, she felt a deep pang of guilt, for though he could trust her to support him in every sane endeavour, she feared there was little left of sanity within him.

“Thus then.” He paused. Flora moved a little closer, so their arms were touching along the whole length. “In the darkness, I cannot but remember ... no, more than remember: it is though I am there again, or Moby Dick is here. His eye, Flora! His cruel, inhuman eye. I saw there such indifference, such immensity. There has not been a moment since when I have not been in pain. Every time I move, my body screams at me that the world is wrong, and do you think he even remembers?”

“Ahab,” she said gently. “He is but a brute beast.”

“He is brutality and bestiality itself.”

“Then it is for thee to be all humanity.”

“My poor Flora.” He pulled her closer, so she was lying in the crook of his shoulder. “Am I not humane to thee? I fear I am not. But Moby Dick will die, aye, and by my hand, and then thou shalt have a husband again, or most of one at any rate.”

* * *

The day after, Mr Starbuck came to visit, sent by Mr Bildad and Mr Peleg as a prospective first mate. Flora wondered whether Mr Milton had had a hand in this, but of course did not say anything.

Whenever he was with anyone associated with Bildad and Peleg, Ahab refrained from mentioning Moby Dick, speaking instead of the price of sperm oil, of profits and losses and bonds and lays. So it was with Mr Starbuck. But after Ahab had seen all he needed (and pronounced himself very happy with the prospect of sailing with Starbuck at his side), Flora brought Starbuck to the parlour for tea and cake.

“I hear you are familiar with Mr Milton,” said Flora, pouring Starbuck a cup of tea.

“He is my wife’s uncle,” said Starbuck. “Or else a famous poet from England, but I think you probably mean my wife’s uncle.”

“It seems to me,” said Flora, sipping her own tea daintily, “that both Mr Miltons have something in common.”

“Poetry?” asked Starbuck.

“Politics,” said Flora. “With a small ‘p’, I mean. Or at least, both pride themselves on being resistors of tyranny.”

Starbuck looked stricken, and didn’t respond.

“Tell me,” said Flora. “What did you hear about my husband’s last voyage?”

Starbuck swallowed. “I was very sorry to hear about the loss of his leg,” he said.

“And of his quarrel with your wife’s uncle? Tell me, what would you have done in Mr Milton’s position?” Then, taking pity on him, she added: “I will be forever grateful to your wife’s uncle, for I hold that had he not acted as he did, my husband would now be dead.”

“I hope and believe I should have done the same,” said Starbuck, sighing with relief. “I should have conferred with the mates, and had it been necessary would have confined the Captain to his cabin.” He drank almost all his cup of tea in a single gulp. “Mrs Ahab ...” he began.

“Yes?”

“You ... you don’t think that’s likely to be necessary, do you? The Captain is fully recovered, is he not ... um ... apart from his leg, I mean.” Starbuck blushed.

“Does he not seem recovered to you?”

“Oh ... yes,” said Starbuck. “Very much so. And I suppose it’s only natural, is it not, that after such a terrible shock ...” he trailed off.

Flora sighed. Yes, Starbuck would do well enough: he was probably as good as she could hope for, but not alone. As soon as she could, she would have to pay her own visit to Mr Bildad and Mr Peleg.


	7. Chapter 7

A month after Ahab’s return, things had settled down into something like a routine, albeit a bit of a peculiar one with a lot of shouting and a strange hairy man who followed them around quoting and pastiching the old testament.

On the one hand, Mrs Ahab rather approved of Elijah: when you actually took the time to listen to him, most of what he said was quite sensible. On the other, it really was quite wearying to be followed around everywhere by a prophet of doom, and while _she_ knew that he only called her ‘Jezebel’ because she was the wife of Ahab, she did worry that the neighbours might form other opinions.

Her usual ploy when confronted with someone inclined to gothic excess was to invite them to take tea with her, and confuse them into submission with fine china and brutally precise etiquette. That was how she had grown to know and love Ahab himself, for example. But Elijah declined, declaring that he would rather die than set foot inside ‘the temple of Baal’, which is what he called their elegant townhouse.

Physically, Ahab seemed to be doing better: he could walk, for example, without it seeming as though every step sent searing spasms of pain through his body. And although nothing else had changed, Flora had grown more accustomed to his mental state, thinking of it more as an extreme and somewhat dangerous form of eccentricity rather than outright lunacy.

Flora had picked up her old life so far as to begin interviewing for a new housekeeper, though neither of the women she had spoken to so far seemed of robust enough constitution to work in a house with someone who shouted quite as much as Ahab did. At the same time, she made progress with her plan to ensure the next voyage of the Pequod was to be accomplished with as little risk to her husband as possible.

William wrote weekly letters from Boston, covering such subjects as his telescope, excursions with his grandparents, and his new friend Augustus, who had been to Germany and could speak Italian.

Ahab had taken to going for long walks alone on the rocks at night, which was not the pastime Flora would have chosen for him, though it was better than spending every waking hour with Fedallah, arguing about the migratory patterns of whales.

* * *

On a dark December day, the date for the Pequod’s next voyage was set. Christmas Day. That night, Ahab went out for his customary walk later than usual, having told Flora not to wait up for him. So she went to bed at midnight, but lay awake, fearing for present and future alike. After a sleepless hour, there was a hammering on the door. She threw on a loose gown over her nightdress, then ran downstairs, her heart beating fast, foreboding heightened by exhaustion.

It was a boy she recognised as the doctor’s son, giving a garbled message about Ahab having been found wounded on the rocks and taken to his father. She hurriedly dressed, cursing herself for not objecting in stronger terms to his walks, then half walked half ran to the doctor’s house.

She saw that his ivory leg had somehow been violently displaced, and been driven into his inner thigh with such force that it had all but pierced him. When asked what had happened, he said only that he had slipped and fell, but when the next day, after he had been carried on a stretcher back to their home, he swore Flora to secrecy and told her the whole story, pausing often to catch his breath in pain.

It was Elijah. He had confronted him at midnight on the rocks, calling him a troubler of the House of Israel and many other things. Ahab has lost his temper, telling the scrawny and dishevelled ‘prophet’ to be gone forever, but Elijah shouted that he would not be silenced, that through his stubbornness Ahab was condemning forty mother’s sons or more to an early death, and that he, Elijah would not stand by and let it happen, but would oppose him with every mite of strength he had, though he knew it was futile. At that point, Elijah fell on him, pushing him down onto the rocks, and then attempting to stab him with his own ivory leg.

“And he’d have killed me too, if he hadn’t been disturbed  by someone walking their dog.”

* * *

The wound was not life-threatening, but it was agonisingly painful. Flora could not be glad, even though she was sure the voyage would have to be delayed, perhaps permanently. Often Ahab wished to be alone, but sometimes he wanted her with him, and gripped her hand or her arm as though it were the only thing that anchored him to the world.

He never spoke again of Elijah, but put the blame for his injury entirely upon Moby Dick, as though he were the direct rather than indirect cause.

The pain did not abate as the date of the voyage drew closer, but when Flora began to make hints about postponing it, he flew at once into a rage, dismissed her and sent for Fedallah, who was by this time still a daily visitor, though no longer a constant companion. And so she learnt that he still intended to sail, even if he had to keep to his cabin for the first few weeks, entrusting governance of the ship to Starbuck and the other mates.


	8. Chapter 8

Flora walked with Ahab to the Pequod in the darkest part of the night. He leant heavily on her, and although it was only a five minute journey, he had to stop three or four times. He went to his cabin and eased himself into the bed there, then asked Flora to check on Fedallah, already stowed in the fourth boat, along with a group of his most trusted sailors, who spoke no English so far as Flora could tell.

Starbuck, along with Stubb and Flask, the second and third mates, arrived the next morning. Flora explained to them that the Captain was indisposed for the time being, and that he trusted Starbuck to set them on their prearranged course.

“Goodbye, my love,” said Ahab when Flora returned to him. “What shall I bring you back? A necklace of beads made from Moby Dick’s jawbone, perhaps?”

“Yourself,” said Flora. “That’s all I ask.” And she busied herself unpacking some of Ahab’s things.

“It’s time to go,” said Ahab. “We set sail within the hour.”

She smiled at him.

“Or do you plan to go back with the pilot?”

“No, Ahab, I do not.”

“Then come and kiss me, and say farewell until we meet again.”

She sat on the bed, and he pulled himself upright, and put his arm round her.

“I’m not going back with the pilot,” she said, “because I’m sailing with you, and will not leave your side.”

He smiled sadly and kissed her cheek. “Alas, my love, Bildad and Peleg would never allow it.”

“Yes they would, I have their permission. Nay, more than that, when you signed your contract, it was an explicit condition that you have me along with you.”

Flora found that one of the good things about Ahab’s monomania was the fact that though he was often angry, his anger was never directed at her: he always found a way of blaming Moby Dick for whatever she had done that he didn’t like.

So it was then. He shouted, but not at her. If anything he seemed to think she was somehow the victim of a diabolical plot dreamt up in the fathom-deep mind of his cetacean foe, and pitied her for the risks and hardships she was to endure.

* * *

Flora had not been expecting to love sailing as much as she did. She loved to feel the wind against her face and to watch for sunset and sunrise on the far horizon. She loved the Pequod, with its curious ivory fixtures, and sometimes walked about with Starbuck, asking what things were called and what their function was.

As on shore, she was Ahab’s nurse, but also his only point of contact with the crew, and as such she was generally respected and listened to. There were, of course, exceptions. She soon learnt that the second mate, Mr Stubb, had some reservations about sailing with a woman on board, as did some of the men. No-one said anything to her face, but she was often uncomfortably aware of being discussed.

As well as Starbuck, she made an especial friend of Dough-boy, the steward, helping him with his work whenever she had a spare hour.  He was not offended when it became plain she was a better cook than he was, but helped her win over some of the doubters by making sure her natural skills were enhanced by giving her access to the better ingredients.

When Starbuck called for ‘all hands on deck’, she went along with the others, and pulled on whatever rope she was told to pull on. It was a source of private pride to her that she was not accounted the worst, or even the second worst sailor on board: those dubious honours went to the lad called Pip, who was a sort of assistant steward – too big to be a cabin boy, but good for little else; and a former schoolmaster who said his name was Ishmael and who talked a great deal about the romance of whaling.

Sometimes she was so busy, or so happy, she forgot what she was there for, but then he would catch a glimpse of the tightly covered fourth boat and feel a tight knot of fear form in her stomach.

Now and again, Ahab sent her to check on Fedallah and his crew. “See that they have enough water,” or “remind them again whatever happens not to leave the boat until I give express command”.

* * *

Slowly, Ahab’s physical wound began to heal, so he could first stand and then walk with little or no pain. Flora realised that if she was to do what she planned to do, it was best done soon, before he left his cabin to take full command.

She chose a cloudy night, when all were asleep apart from the schoolmaster, who was aloft on watch. She had rehearsed it in her mind a hundred times, convinced herself of the rightness of it, yet still she hesitated. As she went to the place, she was aware of forcing herself to take every step, every movement of hand or foot.

She was slow and clumsy in lowering the boat, it was not as easy as Starbuck had made it seem, but if Fedallah or his crew awoke, they made not a sound, obedient to Ahab’s command not to show themselves till he thought it fit. And then it was done. They were set adrift and she returned to Ahab’s bed, although she did not sleep for thinking about what would become of them.

* * *

“There she blows!”

The call came three days after Flora’s nocturnal adventure, three tense days in which at every moment she expected someone to notice that the fourth boat was gone.

Ahab roused himself from his bed, donned his clothes and ivory leg and climbed on deck. In other circumstances, Flora would have liked to have seen the impression he made, but instead she curled up in his bed, heart beating like a drum, waiting for the dreadful moment when he learnt what she had done.

It came by stages. First she heard him cry out, and then there was a commotion, with something breaking, and many people shouting, then a silence that was more dreadful yet, and finally, the cabin door swung open.

He half tripped as he lunged towards her, but steadied himself on a rail. “What have you done?” he screamed. “Murderer!”

“Murderer?” said Flora. “But I only–”

“Murderer?” snarled Ahab. “Nay, torturer, rather. Have you any idea what it is to float in the sea on an open boat? Did you not read about the _Essex_?” His fist was clenched. He stared at it for a moment, the drew it back and punched her full on the face. She cried out, and put her hand to her mouth. Her nose was bleeding. He went to hit her again, but then she saw Starbuck and two of the harpooners pulling him back. Starbuck pulled her up, and pushed something into her hand. “My key,” he said. “Go to my cabin and lock yourself in.” She stared at him dumbfounded. “Go,” he repeated, giving her a little push in the right direction.

* * *

Flora hugged her knees on Starbuck’s narrow bunk. She hadn’t bothered to wash the blood from her face. She was trembling, and felt sick.

The _Essex_. Of course she had read about it: there was not a soul in Nantucket for whom that word did not conjure up visions of a scene worse than their worst nightmares. Men set adrift after a shipwreck, dying one by one of thirst and starvation, then at last killing one another to survive by eating human flesh, drinking blood. Gnawing on bones, mad and desperate, fighting their rescuers because they could no longer understand what rescue was.

But what she had done was different. They had food, fresh water – _some_ fresh water, at least. And they could not yet be so far from land, though how would they navigate?

She put her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. What had she done?

* * *

“Leave me,” said Ahab, standing in his cabin.

Starbuck shook his head. “I’ve given the command to go back,” he said. “We may well find them, that’s if they haven’t found land already.”

Ahab shook his head, staring down at the floor. “Leave me,” he said again.

“I ... don’t think you should be alone,” said Starbuck.

“Fedallah ...” began Ahab.

“He is probably safe,” said Starbuck.

“He was ...” Ahab groped for the word. “He saved my life three times, you know, but he was–”

“He _is_ ,” corrected Starbuck.

“Not good for me,” said Ahab. Then: “I ... fear I was not in my perfect mind.” He staggered, and sank to the bed, half falling, half sitting.  Gently, Starbuck lifted his legs so he was lying on the bed, and put pillows behind him. He did not resist, but stared upwards, puzzled. “Did I hit her?” he asked. “She ... perhaps she killed Fedallah and the others, but if she hadn’t, then I would have killed you all, and myself too. I had the strangest idea, Starbuck ...” He reached out and found the first mate’s hand. “I believed for a time that Moby Dick was more than just a whale. I believed that what he did to me–” Here he touched his own leg. “I believed it meant more than just ... I believed it meant everything.” He frowned. “Did I hit her, Starbuck? I remember hitting her.”

Starbuck didn’t answer, but Ahab knew from his face that he had.

“What have I done?”


	9. Chapter 9

Starbuck sent Stubb and Flask to restore order above deck, and to reassure all that nothing calamitous had occurred. There was a great deal of confusion among the men, suddenly to know that there had been more than half a dozen extra souls on board, and then to know them gone. There was a great deal of talk about devils and so on, which Stubb, with his honest good humour, was exactly the right man to dispel.

Ahab lay staring up at the ceiling, his fists clenched, making quick, shallow breaths. When Starbuck asked what he could do, there was no answer. Perhaps he would be more comfortable without his ivory leg, Starbuck suggested, seeing how it cut into him? And when Ahab did not object, he removed it, and guiltily hid it, thinking they would all be safer with the Captain unable to leave his bed.

He knocked on the door of his own cabin.

“Yes?” He could hear Mrs Ahab was crying.

“Is there anything I can get you, Ma’am?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, “nothing.”

Then he went above deck himself, to see how things were there.

* * *

The second knock on the door of Starbuck’s cabin came almost an hour later.

“Who is it?”

Ahab’s voice. “The lowest and most dejected of men.”

She opened the door. No-one was there, but then she looked down and saw he was on his hands and knees. “Ahab , come in.” She stepped aside, and he crawled forward, she shutting the door behind him.

It was a tiny space, though Starbuck had made it cosy enough, with a quilt and cushion covers sewn, Flora supposed, by his wife. She leant down, put her arms round Ahab and pulled him up onto the narrow bunk.

“My Flora.” He was staring at her face, then touched it gently with the back of his hand. She wondered what she looked like. She still hadn’t washed, though there was a ewer of water there, and she could feel that around her left eye was swollen and bruised.

“Tell me what you want,” he said. “If you wish, I shall no more be your husband. I will send you all I earn, but never return to Nantucket. I ... I cannot ask your forgiveness. But please know that I would give everything to make this not have happened. I would cut off my other leg and my arms and live out the long years a helpless cripple.”

Despite everything, Flora felt the beginning of a smile. It was all so very _Ahab_. “I’m not entirely sure I see what that would solve,” she said. “And neither do I understand how you would be able to cut off your second arm, the first already being off.”

“My Flora,” said Ahab again, almost smiling himself, then he dipped his handkerchief in the ewer of water, and began gently wiping her face.

“Don’t,” she said, the moment of near-levity being over.

He twitched his hand away as though burned. “Sorry,” he said, hanging his head. “I presumed too far.”

“No,” she said. “It’s not that. It’s just ... your kindness. I don’t deserve ... you were right when you called me a murderer.”

“You took life – if take life you did – only to save life. For I see now that had I remained under his influence I would have led us all to our deaths.” And he took the handkerchief to her face again, cleaning off the tears and half-dried blood.

When Starbuck came looking for them, fearful of what he might find, he found them both asleep, entwined together in his bunk. He quietly shut the door, and, being a pragmatic man, and no great respecter of authority, took his own rest in the Captain’s bed.

* * *

It was going to be a profitable voyage. On the day they set sail for home, the hold was already four fifths full, and they were making plans for where else they could start to store the oil should encounter more than a few more whales.

“There she blows!”

At first, Flora had found the bloody mess and butchers shop stink of the whaling business a horrifying affair, but after it had happened three or four times, she began to take as much delight in the chase as the others, and helped out in the try-works, feasting on sizzled morsels of whale flesh.

Sometimes her husband lowered with the others, and sometimes he did not. This time it was a fair spring day, and they stood on deck holding hands and watching the three boats row out as folks might watch children dancing at a country show.

“There she blows!”

But when the whale reared out of the water, the festival atmosphere came to an abrupt end, for he was white, and all mottled over with scars and the remains of old harpoons.

Ahab turned away from the whale and looked into her eyes. “I can call them back,” he said. “If you tell me to I’ll do it at once.”

“Do you not want to go yourself?”

He shook his head. “I’m old, Flora, and half crippled. What have I to do with a business like that?”

“Then let them go, if they wish it,” said Flora. “But if they turn back, then do not force them.”

It seemed to Flora as she watched the battle that Moby Dick too was old and half-crippled. The mother whale they had caught near the Philippines had fought twice as hard, and not fruitlessly, for Flora had watched the calf swim off to safety.

As they brought his massive corpse alongside the Pequod, Flora watched her husband carefully for any signs of unnatural enthusiasm, but saw none. Instead he was quieter than usual.

“Rest in peace, old foe,” he said, and she watched as a tear rolled down his cheek and into the Pacific Ocean.


	10. Epilogue

Having developed a taste for travel, Flora never again remained home in Nantucket when her husband sailed. And on the next voyage, William joined them too.

Her neighbours complimented her adventurous soul, and she smiled and thanked them, but in the darkest place of her heart she brooded on the cause of her restlessness, and late at nights, she lay awake imagining what might have become of Fedallah and his crew. Yet for the most part she was happy, and couldn’t imagine a way of life that suited her better.

Stopping for repairs in the harbour of Bombay, some decade or so after the events described herein, she and her husband had leisure to explore the bazaar. She wished to buy silk as a gift for her mother, and perhaps something to cover the parlour chairs back in Nantucket.

It was Ahab who noticed her first: a tall and graceful woman of perhaps eighteen years of age, who seemed to be everywhere they were, watching them.

Once she had been pointed out, Flora noticed her too, and at last could bear it no more, but turned to her and spoke. “Excuse me,” she said. “But do you happen to speak English? Or _Française_?”

“English,” she said. “Yes. I am Thriti, and you are Mr and Mrs Ahab. I have been waiting for you. Come.”

It was very much like something from the Arabian Nights. “How do you know my name?” Flora asked, vaguely hoping she would say a genie told her.

“I have been waiting for you,” Thriti said again. “Come.”

Flora and Ahab looked at each other, and by unspoken consent, agreed to trust her.

* * *

“My family have much to thank you for,” said Thriti, as she led them down a narrow alley to a small door that led into a surprisingly large courtyard. In it, a whole family was eating: men and women, old people, children and babies. “You know my father, of course.”

At the head of the table sat a man who was unmistakably recognisable as Fedallah, although he wore his white hair down now, combed out and pooling on the ground.

“Oh!” Flora put her hand over her mouth.

Fedallah smiled and put his hands together in greeting. Flora, remembering her manners, did the same.

“I’m so glad,” she said at last. “I’m ... I’m sorry.” Over the years she had forgotten the dangerous, snakelike Fedallah, and thought only of a desperate man thirsty and adrift at sea, but the man in front of them was another Fedallah entirely. Genial and well-fed, with a big round belly: the _paterfamilias_ of a loving and joyful clan.

“Don’t be sorry,” leapt in Thriti. “You are the one my mother and I prayed for every day and night, you delivered him from the whale fever that had afflicted him since I was smaller than Vadhut there.” She pointed to fat-cheeked toddler who was sitting on the ground and enthusiastically banging on a little drum.

“No,” said Fedallah. “Do not be sorry. It is I who should be sorry, as a man with a contagious disease should be sorry when he spreads it to others. Stay and eat with us, and I will tell you the story of how _I_ first encountered Moby Dick, and how you saved me from his thrall.”


End file.
